The Downpour at the End
by DurzoBlint
Summary: The Winchesters have procured the Tablets. This does not sit all too well with the current leaders of Hell, Heaven and Purgatory. A game is going to be played. The goal is to kill Dean and Sam. The prize is Earth. Follow the story of Dean and Castiel as they find each other in circumstances where time is of the essence, death is inevitable and sacrifice is crucial. - Destiel
1. Prologue

**A/N: **_Hello my Wayward Angels__!__ Thanks for clicking on my fic. This is my first time writing for the Supernatural fandom, and the Destiel fandom in particular. I love criticism but don't hurt my feelings okay. I hope you enjoy reading this. AND PLEASE REVIEW! I cannot stress the importance any more than CAPS and underlining it! BIG SHOUT-OUT to Chiyume who is my inspiration and driving force through all this. Thanks for the advice and squeals and laughs. Check out her work on this site as well - mind blowing!_

**WARNING: **_I have included as much of the original plot line but it will mostly be my own story. This fic follows after S08E22. I will say it again, most of the original twists and turns have been included, **BUT I HAD TO CHANGE SOME THINGS FOR MY FIC TO MAKE SENSE**. __  
_

_So I will recap what happened prior to my fic (excluding some things that I took out): The 2nd Trial had been completed by Sam. Sam is in a very weak and fragile state. Crowley sends his minions disguised as the Winchesters and hands Kevin, Crowley's half of the Demon Tablet, as a way to get Kevin to hand them the other half. Kevin has hidden his half and starts deciphering Crowley's half. He eventually realizes that the Winchesters are in fact imposters and sends them into a trap. Crowley hears of this. Castiel has been running from the Angels and Naomi, with the Angel Tablet. Eventually, they find him and fail to find the Angel Tablet. Crowley shows up and with the help of Ion, an Angel working for him, takes Castiel, after chasing away Naomi. Crowley interrogates Castiel and finds the Angel Tablet inside of him. Crowley then leaves to deal with Kevin. Meanwhile, the real Winchesters have found Metatron, the scribe of God. Sam and Dean blames him for Kevin's death (because they think he is). Metatron senses, as the Archangel in charge of Kevin, that Kevin is alive, and saves him just as Crowley has Kevin in his claws. Metatron flies them back to the Winchesters and reveals that the Third Trial is curing a demon. (Now comes my part...) Metatron vanishes just after telling the boys that he never wanted to be part of any of this, of this war between demons, angels and men. He also enlightens them that the Trials are choices, and that these choices come at a cost that the boys must weigh up before making them. Castiel is still stuck under the supervision of Ion, the traitor Angel. He tries to convince Ion to free him and see reason in keeping the Tablets safe. Ion has internal struggles and eventually frees Castiel and escapes with him, staying off the radar. __  
_

_Crowley returns to an empty office and because he has no idea what the Third Trial is, he orders all demons to stay away from the Winchesters. He also starts killing all the people the Boys have previously saved, in an attempt to make them hand over the Demon Tablet. After sending Kevin to the Men of Letters Lair with the now whole Demon Tablet, and while trying to save the people Crowley is killing, they also stumble upon research on how to possibly cure a demon, and because Demons are nowhere to be found, thanks to Crowley, they dig up Abbadon to experiment on. She escapes after hearing that Crowley is King of Hell, and sets out to take revenge on him. Castiel and Ion are still off the radar. Metatron vanished (and wil not be featured in my fic). The Creature Tablet will be explained later on. My story plays off a few weeks after Abbadon escaped... And boy, have things gone downhill..._

* * *

**-Prologue-**

There she was, in the White House, sitting at the Resolute-desk in the Oval office. Her feet were perched on it, her newly "acquired" 6-inch Christian Louboutins, shining black with the red-laquered soles in the sharp lighting of the room. Humans always knew how to embody sexual beauty into inanimate things perfectly. She had grown fond of the shoes even though they were worthless to her. It looked good on her, or on her human form to be precise.

She leaned back in her chair taking a cocktail fork from a plate in front of her, dangling it over her mouth as if she were teasing herself. The sustenance on the cocktail fork dropped into her mouth. Her eyes rolled over in delight, and rolled back to reveal her demonic pupils. Another thing humans produced that made her whole being quiver – filthy, soiled, human liver – it tasted like sin and she adored it. Ah, humans, how would she ever have the heart to annihilate them completely. She had heard of the Leviathan trying to herd and harvest them like cattle. The idea was enticing, almost to the extent that it seemed the only option, but Abbadon had other plans, a competition, and before she could go through with them she had to deal with her biggest problems first.

Abbadon popped back upright in her chair, took the plate and smashed it against the furthest wall and gave a loud screech that echoed through the office and halls of the White House. It had only been a split second before 4 of her minions, her lousy demons, had rushed in to her aid.

"Your Majesty, how can I be of assistance?" the biggest demon asked.

Abbadon looked at him, smiling as if she were his mother, "When will my guests be arriving? I asked you to deliver my invitation two days ago. They should have been here by now."

"M-ma'am… I mean, Majesty, it's been hard contacting the guests you have requested the presence of. They do not come easily or just by invitation. They seem to have thought it was a trap at first, but I assure you that, with the perseverance of my men, the hard work of the witches and all the spells and lore we could find, we have found your guests and got them to agree to come today. I apologize for these whores being late."

She gave a harsh cackle, lifted her hand and pointed at the demon who spoke to her, "You work hard, you impress me, but I fucking hate when demons speak so formally!" With a slight flick of her finger the big demon burst into flames. The heat and the screams triggered the remaining three demons to jump back in horror. Abbadon could smell their fear and laughed even harder.

"Any of you care to tell me _exactly_ where my guests are?" she enquired.

The demon closest to the Queen of Hell opened his eyes slowly and stepped in front of her desk. He was shivering and couldn't seem to utter the words he wanted to. Abbadon slowly rested her elbows on the desk, her hands locking as if in prayer.

"I am waiting…" she said lifting her finger to the demon, "…well, then…"

Another demon burst into the room, sweat dripping from his brow. "My Queen, Abbadon, they have arrived."

"Ah! You see, "My Queen" would have sufficed. Stop this fucking British royalty crap. I'm Queen of Hell and not the Queen of Crumpets, Tea and Welsh Corgies. Now, all of you leave! Send in my two knights. They will be out shortly to fetch my guests."

The knights were hand-picked by Abbadon after she overthrew Crowley from his thrown and ended his reign as King. They were two of the foulest, soulless, ruthless and squalid demons she had ever come across in her time as a Knight of Hell.

Dragonique had been behind the absolute awe-inspiring happenings of 1952 in Ashley, Kansas – he had possessed all of the children of the small community, tortured them and sent them back to retrieve the souls of their parents, covering it up beautifully with a fiery fissure in the earth. A whole town wiped out in a couple of days. Sreeq had a knack for choosing innocent people on earth and possessing them to become serial killers, rapists and so forth. His résumé gave Abbadon so much pleasure that it almost felt orgasmic. She admired them for their talent and diligence. She was thrilled to have them as her right and left hand – her personal guard.

She briefed them on the matter at hand when they had entered the Oval Office. Like always, or since she had become queen, they had listened intently without disturbance or questioning, nodded and headed for the door to retrieve her guests from the waiting area. Before they left she asked, "Sreeq, Drago, how is our president and his family doing? And the presidential staff?"

"My Queen, they have been possessed by our finest legislative and executive powers. They follow your orders down to the last syllable and tread lightly as to not awaken the curiosity of suspecting humans."

"Fucking-A! Send in the ladies!" she demanded turning in her chair to stare out of the window as she waited for her sisters.

* * *

It had been millennia since she had last seen Abbadon, her sister. Their Father had ripped the wings from Abbadon and sent her straight to Earth where Lucifer, still free at that time and age, had taken her in and grinded her in becoming his knight, his loyal guardian. Since then not much had been heard of Abbadon until one day a group named The Men of Letters had been slain by Abbadon herself.

She shifted in the uncomfortable seat the demons had given her to sit on in one of the rooms of the White House. At her sides were her two faithful brothers, Abdociel, Angel of Fire, and Baradiel, Angel of Hail. They were there to insure that if any foul play was being sensed or if anything strayed from the plan as had been promised by her sister, they would step in and get them out of there.

"Your Grace, someone is approaching. It seems to be Abbadon's abominations," one of the angels said.

"Thank you, Baradiel. I think the meeting will be starting soon. Keep your guards up, search for anything out of the ordinary and dispel it – constant vigilance is all that will be keeping us alive today. I trust you know this. I have faith in you." she said.

"It is our duty to keep you safe, ma'am." Abdociel replied.

Abbadon's knights entered the room and asked the angels to accompany them to their Queen's chambers. They did as asked with the utmost caution, Baradiel and Abdociel flanking their leader on each side. As they walked they could sense the demonic air of the building. Every vessel, every space smelled of impurity and evil. The angel brothers could sense their sister's wariness and moved closer to her, assuring her of their presence. As powerful as she was, she was still scared of the treacherous and tricky ways of demons, especially Abbadon's.

Through years of research she could tell that they were nearing the entrance of the Oval Office. As they walked closer she could hear the laughter of Abbadon. It made her vessel's insides curl up in angst and nausea. She could feel the cold steel of her angel blades pressing up against her arms inside sleeves of her gray suit. She heaved a silent breath as the knights opened the door and stepped inside.

* * *

Abbadon stood as her last guest entered the room. She could not believe that both of them were here, under protest, she presumed, but who gave a fuck.

"I have never been happier to see an angel again," Abbadon exclaimed, "Even better now that you are the Angel-in-Command. Welcome, Naomi."

Naomi looked up to stare at her fallen sister. It was as if a thousand angel blades had cut into her flesh missing all the vital points, letting her live on in agony.

"Abbadon…" Naomi started, cringing at the vile taste of the name on her lips, "Let us not pretend. I have matters to attend to. I would not be here if it wasn't for your methods – your disgusting methods – summoning an Angel of the Lord. I feel violated, my soul besmirched by the mere sight of you."

A small cough came from Naomi's periphery, "Naomi, you always were the down-to-the-point type weren't you, sister?" Naomi turned her head only slightly to see Eve, her other fallen sister, sitting on a chair to her left.

"This is impossible?! How? Abbadon, I do not even want to know what means you had to go to resurrect Eve and return her from Purgatory. You have gone against so much more than your kind usually does. You have messed with time, nature and the supernatural order - Powers out of your control." Naomi exclaimed at the sight of Eve.

Abbadon laughed, "And I presume, it is well in your power to meddle in these things when it suits you? I will in fact tell you, that with a little persuasion here and a bit of torture and research there, I have become quite knowledgeable on how to manipulate some things. At a cost though."

Abbadon saw it coming. Naomi had lost the hold on her patience and control. There was a bright light emanating from Naomi's eyes and skin. Her colossal wings had spurted from behind her and were rising in unison, filling the room with their amazing presence. Even Naomi's little brothers stood back. Naomi moved towards Abbadon.

"This is blasphemous!" Naomi said in a loud, deep voice unlike her own. She slammed her hand solidly down onto Abbadon's desk. The Resolute desk split open under the force of the blow and the boom of light echoing through the room. It blinded all except the angels, for a second.

When Naomi's fury died down, Abbadon's knights were struggling with their backs pressed to ceiling. Eve and Abbadon on the other hand were still in the same position, staring at their sister.

Eve smiled dreamily at Naomi and said, "You know better than that, sister. Your powers have little to no effect on us. I see you have not yet been promoted to arch angel. What a pity… I guess 'Daddy' is still on holiday?"

"I WILL NOT STAND HERE AND LISTEN TO YOUR BLASPHEMY. I SEE THAT I AM NOT NEEDED HERE!" screamed Naomi. "Abdociel, Baradiel , we are leaving." Abbadon's knights fell to the ground in a loud crash.

As Naomi and her Angels turned Abbadon started laughing, "Ha! I hear the Winchesters have been a thorn in your side as well, Naomi, having the Angel Tablet and what not?"

"I am dealing with it. It does not concern you. And let it be said, that if you ever lay your hands on the Angel Tablet, I will smite you myself." Naomi breathed.

"That is why I have summoned you, sister. It so happens that the Winchesters have also gotten their pesky little hands on my Demon Tablet, as well as the Creatures Tablet that Eve so desperately wants."

A ripple of crazy laughter escaped from Naomi's mouth as she was standing with her back to her sister.

"I struggle to see the relevancy of summoning me, in your reason." replied Naomi.

"You see, Naomi, it is not a secret at all that the human race have been keeping us from what we want, what we need, what we deserve – the acceptance from our superiors. God. Lucifer. Whoever. 'Daddy' has been on a break for how long now? I can only imagine that with you leading and trying to follow through on your orders, only to be stopped in your tracks by humans, the Winchesters and wayward angels, have made you extremely angry? Fret not because as you may know, my little demons including Crowley have also been helping the Boys get what they want, helping them meddle with the bigger picture – a task better to be left to us. And this has fucking made my blood boil. Even our sister, Eve, has been through much, the Winchester trying to purify Earth's creatures by killing her children. Do you not see the connection, Naomi? It is up to us to stop these stubborn fools. It is time for us to take the power into our own hands. It is time to subtract human involvement where they were never included to start with. They have grown too knowledgeable of things higher than them and therefore for us to arbitrate our higher-being issues, we first have to finish off of the small admin… The humans... The Winchesters."

Abbadon could feel Naomi's interest growing with every word she spoke. Abbadon knew that Naomi hated little but the Winchesters were the closest the angel felt to hate. Naomi was slowly turning to her. Eyeing Abbadon with great curiosity, Naomi said, "We have been trying for years. How do you propose we do that? How will it be different this time?"

Abbadon and Eve smiled at each other and then Abbadon replied, "Together, sister, I want us to play a little game. Let us tip the open jar of our combined strengths and let it spill over unto Earth."

Naomi moved over and took a seat at the broken desk. She looked to either side of her, making sure that her brothers were still keeping her safe. Contentedly she breathed, "I am listening…"

* * *

**Another A/N: **_This is not a one-shot… Chapter 1 will be going up on the 10th of June 2013. So please feel free to review, comment, ramble. If it were possible I would have sent you all Supernatural T-Shirts. Or pay you with mah sex! Hahaha! OH YEAH, there is going to be Destiel in this Fic. Just wait for it, please! I WILL sign a binding contract with you! _


	2. 4AM Forever

_**Title:**__ The Downpour at the End_

**_Chapter 2: _**_4AM Forever_

_**Author:**__ Me._

_**Fandom:**__ Supernatural _

_**Rating:**__ M_

_**Pairing:**__ Destiel_

_**Disclaimer:**__ As a student I only own a car, a cellphone and a dog. That is all. _

_**A/N: **__This fic is going to be song-inspired. Yay me! Haha. First inspiration is 4AM Forever - Lost Prophets. Listen to it before and after you read the chapter, if you like. It's a beautiful song. Listen, love, live! Enjoy! xxx_

* * *

**-Chapter 2: 4AM Forever-**

Sacrifice is the willingness to surrender something good for something better. Or that is what Dean used to think. Like giving up a morning of sleeping in to spend the day watching a son's soccer game with your wife and buds – giving up an hour's worth of uninterrupted sleep to strengthen a family bond that's so precious, so priceless. Or perhaps choosing to drop a subject at college and do it the next year to assure that diligence and good grades are awarded, guaranteeing a brighter future for you and your loved ones. But this was not his life. He wasn't born into a life filled with the age-old cliche of white picket fences, steaming apple pies and carpooling with the neighbors. He was born directly into 'Hell'. Sacrificing was a heck of a lot more different in his world. This was his life. In his life 'sacrifice' was underrated.

Life is full of limitless possibilities, but in order to transform a possibility into a reality you should have to choose – sacrificing the many in order to attain the one. As the saying goes, nothing is gained without something given. The question was just how much did Dean have to sacrifice? How many times did he have to 'give up' the things he held dearly and close to his heart? How much was he supposed to give to attain at least one thing better? He sometimes felt as if he wasn't sacrificing anymore and that he was rather letting things slip from his calloused fingers as he held on too tightly – too weak, too fragile to fight harder. Or maybe he was just so far gone and tortured by life itself that his subconscious had let go a long time ago and that he was giving up… giving in and giving up the things he cherished.

_Love_. It was a word Dean only knew because he had heard it spoken or felt by others. He never really had the chance to feel it himself. He had no concept of the word, no definition, no experience. Love was taboo in his world. Love meant loss, loss meant hurt, and hurt meant that things would never be even close to normal. He was always the one sacrificing in some way to let others have what they wanted, what they loved. He did not deserve it, or so he felt.

That was the thing. His sacrifices always involved some kind of thing, not love, but close to it, he presumed. Wasn't sacrifice only supposed to have meaning in the context of a goals, dreams or missions? In pursuing these, you are forced to face obstacles which require a forfeiture of physical or emotional comfort in the service of something that matters more. But why did he always have to relinquish the people… the things… the emotions close to love? Just for nothing. He had received absolutely squat from fate in return for the price he had been paying over the years.

The greater the vision, the greater the shared sacrifice was to attain it. Sacrifice was supposed to be easier when he was focused on what he had to choose rather than what he was giving. He had chosen years ago to live a life exempt from 'the family business', with Sammy always close. The only way he had to do that was to stay focused, do his _job_, the job thrusted upon him, and his vision and mission would stay clear and in sight. But the road to the finishing line was a motherfucker, and that was understating it. He had lost so much already and received nothing, not a single thing, not even hope, in return.

Sharing his sacrifices with Sammy had placed a burden on his little brother that he would have lifted in a heartbeat, if he could. Why did Sammy have to go against him and start with the Trials? It was supposed to be Dean. It was supposed to him, the righteous man, who had to carry that cross, to make things safe for Sam, the other people on earth and to put those they had lost to complete rest, knowing that their boy, Dean, had did what they so wished to do or help with doing. He believed in Sam, he promised, he knew Sam could pull it off, to an extent, but Sam deserved not to have been handed such a colossal charge. Now Sammy was weak and dying, once again, and Dean was feeling useless. He could do nothing to fix the broken brother that was now resting in one of the rooms of their Men of Letters-lair. Once again Dean was disappointing everybody, his brother… And Cas.

It had only been a few weeks since he had last seen Castiel. The memory was etched so deep into his mind as if it had happened a few minutes prior to recollecting it. He could see Castiel standing over him, those normally azure eyes, gray as an ocean after a horrible storm, beating him to a pulp. He could have sworn Cas was having an internal struggle, and he had heard the angel say that Naomi was at the bottom of it, that Naomi was messing with his head.

Dean's heart contracted as if being forced by a vice grip, his throat was closing in on itself and he could feel the tears fighting to break loose from his tired eyes. He could still hear Castiel, hear his own bones and face crushing under the angel's brute force, hear is own pathetic pleading.

_Cas, you don't have to do this. Cas, fight it, this isn't you. Who is Naomi? Fight it. _

He could see the angel's struggle, but still Cas came at him with unbreakable confidence, breaking an arm as Dean held on to the Angel Tablet.

_Cas? You want it? Take it… But you are going to have to kill me first. Come on, you coward. Do it. Do it!_

Hit after hit, blood streaming from his head, nose and eyes, he pleaded.

_Cas! This isn't you. This isn't you. _

_Cas, Cas, I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. _

The angel's lifeless eyes pouring right through him, as Dean tried to break through to his friend, his closest ally…

_It's… me. We're family. We need you. _

He could still feel his every cell bleeding with anger and heartache at the same time. He could feel his heart stop as he stared at the once peaceful and innocent angel. The angel who had given him so much to be thankful for. The angel who had pulled him from the Pit. The friend who had been there, no matter what the fucking world spit at him. He felt as if his heart had been forcefully ripped from his body, strangling a tortured sound from Dean.

_I need you…_

He could feel the cold tone of Cas' words slice like a searing knife through his mind, both ice and fiery, conjuring an unimaginable grief inside of him. He had to protect the Angel Tablet from Naomi AND Dean? Cas could've killed him on the spot and Dean wouldn't have minded, but hearing the words combined with Cas' untrustworthy tone in Dean, was worse than death. Why, he did not know, but he knew that Cas not trusting him was the last thing he wanted. Trust with the Angel was the last thing he would ever sacrifice, let slip or be taken from him. Cas' trust was the reason Dean had been holding on to life for so long. And now Cas' precious trust was ripped from Dean by the angel himself. The closest thing he felt to love… gone.

Dean could feel the tears running through his fingers as he was lying on his hands, sitting at the table with the huge world map in the main hall of the Lair. He could hear is breath hitch as he exhaled and tried to bite back the pure anger, the hurt. Even though he wanted to, he could never forgive Cas for betraying him like that, for not having the balls to trust him, for severing the bond they shared, with just a few words and a flutter of wings. He was family for God's sake and family did not just leave. Family did not just forget. _Bastard. Coward. _

"Cas… why…" he heard himself utter under his breath before he unexpectedly heard footsteps coming towards him and quickly gathered himself and wiped the tears from his face. _Tears? _God, it was as if he had turned into a little girl who had her cotton candy stolen had the local fair.

_Sacrifices? Pfff… They did not exist! Things are either lost or taken and so help me, I will rather go back to The Pit than to surrender or give away something in my life again. You hear me, Cas? Whoever's listening? Never!_

He shifted in his seat, kicked his sore legs up onto the table and reached forwards for the beer that had long since been forgotten. He could feel every muscle in his back scream from fatigue and stress as he stretched. He took a swig and gurgled some of the golden brown liquid because he knew if he had to speak now he would sound like a hormonal teenage boy on his way to his man-voice.

Kevin rounded a corner, sleepy-eyed and still wearing his pajamas. At first he didn't notice Dean sitting at the table. Dean could see what the months of deciphering the Tablet and the close-calls with Crowley and his demons had done to the poor boy. He was a wreck – alive, but a complete wreck. His eyes were bloodshot with large, black duffle-bags lining his upper cheeks. His lips were chapped and his hair and beard were out of control. His pajamas were stained with hot sauce, coffee and some other stuff Dean chose to ignore. Dean managed a small chuckle at the sight of Kevin looking like a hung over, homeless man.

The sound caught Kevin's ears immediately as the boy almost fell back into a bookcase, "Jesus! You could have killed me right there!"

"A dirty mouth, the way you look, the way you walk…Advanced placement, overachieving squirt, my ass. Alcoholic, is probably a better way to describe you." Dean replied, easing the tension he was holding in, smiling broadly at Kevin.

"Apparently, they call it being a prophet." Kevin said.

Dean's eyes shot down to his beer, his fingers fumbling with the label, the walls of pressure at attention and even more so, as he tried to hide a guilty look that had spread over his face. One more sacrifice they had to make to reach their goal – taking Kevin from his mother, telling him about his duties as the prophet, sending Kevin's mom to hide and then getting her killed. The pain just didn't stop. This was the shared sacrifice he had heard of in his life. This boy had to take part in their lives, give up everything and for what? Just for a nice scorching hot little seat next to Dean on their derailed train to Hell.

Kevin ignored Dean's new demeanor and asked, "What are you doing up? It's only 4AM?"

"Couldn't sleep," Dean replied, trying to make eye-contact and shake the guilt.

"Breakfast then? I couldn't sleep either…" Kevin said pointing towards the kitchen, "How about some bacon and scrambled eggs?"

"Nah, it's cool, Kev. I got some breakfast right here." Dean muttered, holding his beer towards Kevin, winking as he tried to convince his stomach otherwise.

"And you were calling me a drunk?" Kevin laughed.

Dean breathed a sigh through his smile. The boy had a point. He had been resorting to beer, whiskey and any other alcohol he could find for a couple of days now. The past weeks had been brutal, most probably the worst Dean had ever went through, except for his time in The Pit, but it sure as well, hell, was fucking critical.

Dean and Sam had found Metatron who had revealed the secrets of the Third Trial. The Trial that had been crucial for Sam to complete. Sam was growing weaker by the second, the effects of the charge eating at his existence, extinguishing the light of his existence slowly. A demon had to be cured and it had to be done as soon as they had gotten their hands on one. They had found Father Max Thompson's research in the knowledge-rich archives of the Men of Letters. Sammy had done his best to go through everything and that is where shit started to almost fly automatically into the proverbial fan.

Crowley was pissed. He was fucking livid that the boys were being so successful with the Trials that he ordered all demons to return to him, leaving no victims for Dean and Sam to cure, or try to cure, for argument's sake. So they did what they had to and dug up that bitch demon knight, Abbadon. They had her, trapped, double trapped, no hands attached, no means of attacking them or anybody else. They were so fucking close. And then Dean _sacrificed _a few minutes of his time to answer a call from Crowley.

Crowley had started killing the people that Dean and Sam had ever saved. Every 12 hours. They had been too late for the last victim. More sacrifices. More people hurt. And in those few minutes leaving Abbadon on her own, she escaped. God knows how? This was the Winchesters' life. One step forward and then some supernatural mess swoops in and drags their asses back a couple hundred paces.

They had no demon. They had no help from the angels. People were dying. Sammy was dying. He had nowhere to turn to. No family, no friends. It was just Dean, Sam, Kevin and the Demon Tablet.

The fact that the demon activity or any other weird activity, for that matter, had been non-existent for a few days was bothering Dean. No storms, no disruptions and no funny business at all. No murders, no leads, nothing. Sure, it meant that it gave Dean and Kevin some time to figure out their rather messed up situation, but Dean couldn't help feeling uneasy. He could not shake the feeling that something worse was about to come. It felt like déjà-vu, but the bad kind, where you feel like you've seen this shit before and then some instinct inside you warns you to start running, hide or get the hell outta there.

But he only felt a void where his usual conscious was supposed to rest softly inside his mind- where it fit so perfectly and melted in so easily and comfortably. He knew his conscious was supposed to be warning him, but it was quiet. It made Dean's stomach lurch with fear. He could almost taste the bile rising in his throat. He was lost. He was lost without any direction. He was lost without his conscious… His Castiel.

"…Dean… _Dean_!" he heard his name being yelled at him. Kevin was still standing across the room, looking bewildered and irritated at the same time, "Are you even listening to me?"

Dean snapped out of his trance, "Ugh, sorry man," he said apologetically scratching the hairs on his upper neck, "Lost you there for a sec."

"What I said was, we don't have anything left in the kitchen anymore. We're all out of stock. Mind giving me some cash to go raid that 24/7 convenience store, up the road?"

Dean guffawed at Kevin, "Nice try, but you're not going anywhere, kiddo. And did you really think I would let you take my Baby? You're out of your freakin' mind!"

"Then I guess I will have to walk? This prophet-life just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?" Kevin retorted sarcastically.

Dean felt a pang in his heart and shrugged it off by joking, "You're a prophet and you are Asian. There is NO WAY you are driving Baby. Besides, Crowley's guys will probably gank you if you walk out that door, you hear me?"

"You know that's racist, right? I could have you sued." Kevin replied, not showing if any offence was taken.

With that Dean slowly rose from his seat at the table in the main hall, lifted his arms high above his head and stretched as far as he could. He could feel his body, muscles and cartilage snap into places they were supposed to be. God, he needed sleep.

"So sue me, little man. And while you are at it use some of that lawyer cash to buy us some stuff for the kitchen," Dean laughed, "I'm just messing with you. Lighten up. What do you need from the store? I have to clear my head, so I'll go."

Dean resumed a normal position, falling back into a slumping stance, his body refusing to do anything that required too much effort. Kevin left the main hall and returned in a flash, bearing a post-it with a few items scribbled down on it.

"Jesus, Kev, this Tablet-stuff is getting to you. I can't make out a thing you've written. It all looks like English mixed up with some freaky symbols. Get your head out of your Enochian-ass and re-write this in cursive or something! And I see no short words on here. Where's the pie and beer?"

Kevin ignored Dean's response to his writing, rolled his eyes and left for his room. Halfway he turned around, "Oh yeah, when you get back we need to talk." Then he vanished.

Dean stuffed the post-it into his jean's pocket and headed for the main entrance of the Lair. Before exiting he put on an old, blue jacket – it reminded him of something. It was almost as deep blue as the ocean on a not-so-sunny day. He realized he had been wearing it more often over the past weeks. It made him feel safe, not because his weapons and gear fit nicely into the pockets, but because of the color. He smirked at his trail of thought, grabbed his keys and continued to leave the Lair.

Outside it was pissing rain. _Fuck_, he thought. He trailed off to the Impala and froze for second as he imagined a shadow flickering in the backseat. He gripped tightly to the angel blade in his jacket, as he made his way slowly to his Baby. _Not now. I don't have it in me to fight anything at the moment. _When he was standing at his door he saw that it was in fact his imagination. He heaved a sigh of relief, unlocked his door and got in. In one motion he collapsed onto his steering wheel. His mind, his torn soul, his body was surrendering. Stuff was getting to him, and bad. What was he supposed to do?

Without realizing what he was doing, Dean started praying.

_Cas. I need you to hear me. I need you to take a goddamn second and just listen. I promised myself to stop calling you. I made a decision to leave you alone. But I can't… Even if what you did to me, your betrayal, is something I won't, I can't forget. Whatever the hell you are up to, wherever you are, I don't want to know. I just… We need you. We need your help. Just give me a couple of minutes of your time. I can't do this… I can't do this alone. I can't do this without… without you… dammit! _

"C…ca…castiel…!" he uttered in a deep, somber tone, his voice breaking.

"Trouble in paradise?!"

Dean's actions were that of a snake striking at a non-expecting mouse. In one swift move he almost turned completely in his seat, leaned over and was pinning the intruder who had startled him, to his back seat, the angel blade moments away from breaking skin.

Dean's throat went dry, his head started throbbing with pain, "Cuh..Cuh"

The intruder shifted under Dean's blade pressing into his skin at his throat. Shifting eyes moving quickly from knife to Dean and back, "Crowley, yes, so glad you remember my name. Bad case of amnesia or what's the matter?" Crowley said, his accent draining the remaining energy from Dean's mind.

"You… you're… What the… You know what I don't care! Why are you here?! You start killing people we saved and you… you just pop in, _you son of a bitch_!" Dean yelled as the fury inside him started boiling.

"Calm down, Sunshine. I know my methods haven't exactly been approved of by the Winchesters, but believe me, I would not be here if it wasn't for my current situation. Oh, and I have told you before, son of a _witch_." Crowley winked.

At this Dean pressed the blade closer, carefully as to not break skin. He was out of it, but he still knew that this was the only demon he had seen in weeks. He was losing his mind, but he was still going to do everything to save his brother.

"Bitch, witch, your mother was still a filthy whore," Dean grinded through his gritted teeth, "So, why are you here?" he asked pointing at the dried blood in Crowley's hair, face and on his clothes. He only then realized that Crowley's normally rich-guy suit was torn to pieces. He had long slices, deeper than some that Dean had ever seen, in his neck. His face was a mess. He hands were bloody and swollen and three fingers were missing from his left – only his middle and index fingers were still there.

"Oh, I love it when you talk all dirty, boy. It makes my thighs quiver. You see, after you and that Moose decided to let Abbadon free, she came after me. And as you observed, I don't like beating girls. I forgot how strong the bitch was." He said examining his own injuries, still aware of the blade at his throat.

"And you thought we would help you?" asked Dean, "You have got to be fucking kidding me…"

"No, no, Dean. I know you are under-evolved and your brain is too minute to conceive my big words, so let me break it down for you. Crowley no more king. Abbadon now queen. Crowley no need help. Crowley give help to Moose and brother. Together kill Queen Bitch!" mocked Crowley.

Dean punched Crowley in the gut with his free hand, only to feel his hand almost break from the recoil.

"Nah-ah-ah, I am still a demon. Abbadon may have made me her little bitch, but I am still stronger than you, pathetic human."

Dean shook his hand and lifted his eyes slowly towards Crowley's. Dean's eyes were burning hot, as if his anger had manifested itself in a physical form.

"_I don't believe…_" Dean breathed, emphasizing every syllable through bared teeth.

"I had expected that. So why don't you ask the ones who brought me here? I am sure hearing the words from their lips would change your mind a little." Crowley interjected.

Crowley's words had been formed by his lips, Dean had heard the sound flowing from them, but he did not expect to see what had appeared in his rear-view window.

Khaki. White. Red. Cobalt silk and two piercing silvery-blue eyes staring him down.

Dean felt his heart sink into the bottomless pit that was his soul. He could not speak. He could not move.

Behind his car stood…

"_Cas..._"

* * *

_**Another A/N: **__I hope that was good enough. Please please please review. I would love to hear from you. PM me with questions, requests and all that stuff. Check out my tumblr if you want - I am durzob - Love, Durzo xxx Shoutout to Chiyume!_


	3. Behind These Eyes

_**Title:**__ The Downpour at the End_

**_Chapter 3: _**_Behind These Eyes_

_**A/N: **__This chapter was inspired by __Behind These Hazel Eyes - Kelly Clarkson.__ Yes, it's a bit cheesy, but we all have that one (or 100) cheesy but deep and touching songs that have helped us through tight spots? Am I right? Or is it just me? LOL. Happy readings, my fellow Wayward Angels. _

* * *

**-Chapter 3: Behind These Eyes-**

Rain was pounding down onto the rear-view window as Dean stared out, blinking multiple times and squinting to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him. He kept his mind from running rampant on a journey he knew all too well, a journey of accumulating confusion and disappointment. He was not going to let that happen this time. Things were already too out of control to even think about all the possibilities of what was happening. And to be honest he wasn't sure he was going to like the angel's answers.

Dean extricated himself from the fixed hold he had on Crowley, carefully, not letting down his guard, as the Angel of Thursday looked back at him through the bad weather and glass. His trench coat was soaked, darkening the khaki to a muddy brown. He could see the pink of Castiel's skin as the white, button-up shirt clung to his body, innocently trying to hide behind the backwards tie the angel always wore. His eyes dropped lower as he saw blood dripping from Castiel's stomach, a luminescent flow of essence mixing with the deep red.

Realizing this, Dean's body reacted before his mind had a chance. He disregarded Crowley without thinking about it twice, opened his car door and leaped out of the pitch black Impala. _Castiel was hurt. His Grace was leaving his vessel. _He almost stormed towards Castiel when he suddenly caught sight of someone else standing close to the angel. Dean hesitated, but saw that the angel's friend was also bleeding, from the shoulder. Logic told him; _first help, then confront._

"Hello, Dean." he heard Castiel say in that familiar, dusty voice he had gotten so used to. It sounded deeper and pained, as if the angel was suffering.

Dean resumed his frustrated and resolved pace and passed the angel, brushing against Cas and feeling the colder than usual aura of the angel's figure connecting with his own skin. It stirred emotions in him that he could not quite put his finger on, but he had known from the second he had met Castiel in that barn one night, that it had always been dormant in his mind, waiting to escape. He brushed it off and continued. The ever so active overprotective instinct that was one of Dean's qualities had jumped in and taken control over him.

"_Inside!" _Dean said, stopping only for a second to make the rise in his temper be heard.

"Dean, I need to…" Castiel replied, taken aback by Dean's attitude.

"_Get your pet out of my car and get inside." _he shouted, clenching his bruised fist and then he punched the entrance to the Lair.

The sound ricocheted off the metal door and vibrated through his body fueling his anger even more. The reverb felt like a punch to the gut, bringing Dean back to his full self-control. He opened the door with the special key and stepped inside. Dean turned around to look out at the unexpected guests that pitched out of nowhere. _Why, Cas? Why did you drag Crowley here? Why now? _But he knew questions had to wait.

First, he had to secure Crowley and ensure that the demon had no way of hurting or killing any more than he already had. The fact that Crowley was in a weakened state did not put his mind to ease at all. After that he had to make sure the angel was okay, that Cas wasn't hurt too badly. And then… Then it was time to go into interrogation overdrive and cure a fucking demon to save Sammy. Dean felt some weight in his stomach shift a little as he thought about curing Crowley. Sam would be okay, and using the King of Hell to do that would make things even sweeter.

He could hear footsteps from behind him as he removed his jacket while waiting for Castiel and his companion to bring Crowley into the Lair. Kevin walked up to Dean and he could hear the boy's mouth open to say something and fall shut almost immediately as the sight in front of their eyes seemed to get closer and more clear. Dean felt Kevin's presence shift slowly back again.

"Is… is… that…?" Kevin stuttered in shock. Dean swore he could have heard Kevin's heartbeat growing louder and faster.

"Yeah." Dean replied without moving his eyes from the three men before him.

"Why?" Kevin asked warily.

"To be honest, I don't know." Dean closed his eyes as he rubbed them, a headache settling. "Just stay away from Crowley until I have sorted out this shit. Don't look at him. Don't talk to him. Don't even breathe where he can see you. Got it?"

He couldn't see the boy nod, but he heard him swallow hard. "Dig up all the chains, cuffs and demon trap stuff we got, okay? Bring it to the main hall. Get the paint, salt, holy water, angel blades and every goddamn anti-demon thing in this place. We're not taking chances. This is it, Kev, this might just be the end."

This time he could hear Kevin agree and start off deeper into the Lair to do what he was told. Kevin wasn't gone for more than a few seconds when Castiel and the stranger entered with Crowley walking behind them, bound in chains and cuffs. Dean saw that these bonds were marked with the devil's trap-sigils and other strange markings.

Crowley smiled like a blindfolded man being led to a seductive night between the sheets. "Just precaution, I presume. Your winged boyfriend seems to think it necessary. He is such a pansy."

Dean cringed at Crowley's comment and saw Castiel deliberately pull on the chains in his hands and cause the demon to stumble forward and trip over his own feet. He smashed face first into the floor. Blood splattered over Dean's boots as Crowley's nose broke on impact. Even though everything in him was screaming to not do so, he looked amazed at the angel's balls and managed a small smile. _Good. Still not taking any demon's shit, hey Cas? _

Dean closed the door behind him. After locking it he turned around to see Crowley on all fours, looking over his shoulder at Dean, "See what I mean? Oh so touchy and delicate sometimes."

Dean wanted to kick Crowley in the teeth for being such a dick – a murderous, slimy dick. But he kept his temper at bay and marched passed the demon, Cas and the new guy.

"Now that we have all the formalities out of the way, is _anybody_ going to offer poor, old Uncle Crowley a glass of whiskey?" Crowley asked from his spot on the floor as he tried to get up, "No ice. You know what, screw the glass, and just bring the bottle, would ya?"

"Cas, if you're not going to keep that dick's mouth shut, you'll both be out on your ass for good." he threatened before he made his way to the main hall.

Kevin had retrieved a mass of wards against demons, all the salt from pantry and more stuff Dean did not immediately recognize amongst the colossal heap. Dean's mind began working out how he was going to do it differently this time as he entered the room and took all the items into account. He wasn't letting Crowley slip through his fingers like Abbadon or all the other demons before her.

At the far end of the huge table, in the centre of the room, stood a chair. It was engraved with multiple devil's traps, the largest one appearing on the seat. The piece of crap art-deco chair, as Dean liked to think of it, was also sporting spellwork and enchantments. It had kept Abbadon captive, even if just for a while, but now he knew better and would not take a chance again. He was too close to shutting the Gates of Hell now.

As he moved closer to the chair he could hear the others entering the room as well. The three men were quiet as mice and this made Dean feel as if he was being respected for the first time in a while. He couldn't believe it, his curiosity peeked and he looked back to see that some kind of strip was covering Crowley's pie-hole, the strip glowing with what Dean thought was angel mojo.

"Get him in the chair." Dean demanded without looking at Cas.

"Dean, I need to explain…" Castiel pleaded for the second time.

"_No! You don't need to. What you _have _to do is get Crowley into that chair or, so help me God, I will come down on you, your angel-buddy and Crowley as hard as I can!" _Dean spat through gritted teeth.

Castiel flinched at the mention of his Father's name. Dean could feel it more than see it. It gave him a weird pleasure that the name made Castiel insecure and upset. He knew that Castiel's Father abandoning him and the rest of the Host was the angel's most prodigious loss. He had known this feeling all too well as he too had lost his father over and over again.

Castiel obliged and with the help of the other angel they forced Crowley to the other side of the room and into the seat, wasting no time as to not scratch at the bleeding, aching wound that was Dean.

Dean started immediately, the enchanted and marked items being handed to him by Kevin as if the boy had read his mind. He clasped cuffs to each of Crowley's hands, fastening them to the seat handles. He did the same with Crowley's ankles, as he strapped them in manacles to the legs of the chair. Kevin picked up an angel blade and reluctantly handed it to Dean. He could see Crowley's calm and collected air fade to a more wary and rattled state.

"Not yet." Dean told Kevin and placed the blade in his back pocket. He saw Kevin's tensed figure loosen at his words. Obviously the kid also knew what was at stake here.

Dean continued by wrapping chains around Crowley, making sure that the demons body was flush with the chair, the chains sort of merging it and the demon as one. In the shape of a huge 'X' it crossed the demon's chest, once, twice, three times over. Finally, Dean wrapped the two loose ends around the pair of wooden and human legs.

"Kevin, hand me that hammer and those nails." Dean insisted.

'Nails' were an understatement. These were huge ass, magical stakes he had found in the Lair. It had the devil's trap-markings etched into it, so Dean figured it had to be used. He managed one of the stakes through the last link of one of the chains and without hesitation, pounded away at it with the hammer, after positioning it to make the chains as tight as possible. The sound echoed through the main hall. Dean new Kevin wanted to say something about his actions, but the boy kept quiet – Dean would have done the same if he were in Kevin's shoes. No demon was ever getting away again.

Dean did the same with the other end of the chain. Crowley was now cuffed, manacled and chained to the chair-trap. The chains were now solidly jammed to the floor of the main room and Crowley was left motionless. To Dean's surprise Crowley still hadn't returned to his relaxed state from before. He was still eyeing the blade as Dean moved around him. Dean felt a tiny jolt of contentment shoot through his body. _Yes, you fucktard, we got you now!_

But Dean was still not finished. He motioned for Kevin to stand further away from him as he collected the can of spray paint from the map-table. It was neon orange as always. Dean felt guilty for vandalizing and showing so much disrespect towards the Men of Letters' Lair. But he couldn't allow his guilt to stop him from doing this, from securing Crowley, keeping everyone safe from the chaos and disaster the demon causes and finally getting his brother back to a normal man, or as normal as the Winchesters could ever be.

With the slow precision of a person like Dean who had seen, painted and drawn the devil's trap hundreds of times before, he emptied the can, spraying the symbols and shapes circling Crowley. It had become second nature to him. He knew every line, every curve and detail of it. He carefully made sure that it was his finest and strongest trap yet. He shot back up into a standing position as he evaluated the devil's trap, approved, and only then realized that he was dripping with sweat. He had not expected the task at hand to have such an effect on him. But he could feel it now – he was exhausted, physically and mentally. _There just ain't no rest for the wicked, is there?_

He cleared his mind as it was screaming for rest. He walked to the table, still not hearing a peep from the angels or Kevin, and not looking up to see their expressions. He took the largest bag of salt, brought the one end to his mouth and ripped the corner with his teeth. The taste made his mouth dry up even more than it had already. He walked towards Crowley, looked him straight in the eye, and started pouring out the salt in a circle around the painted devil's trap. The bag was heavy and Dean's palms were slick with perspiration. He rushed his actions and returned to the table, placing the salt on it.

Dean's fists dropped to the surface of the table as well. His head fell to his chest, eyes closed. _I need to do more. That can't be everything? _He opened his eyes again and felt the angel blade Kevin had handed him earlier pressing against his back. Dean smiled at the idea that popped up in his head. He took the blade out of his pocket, examined it and for the first time he appreciated its beauty, its color and craftsmanship. He had only ever been in awe of the power it possessed.

He could feel the others' eyes burn into him as he walked over to Crowley again and turned around when he was behind the demon. He pulled the collar of Crowley's suit and shirt down, his other hand holding the blade as it slowly lifted towards the demon's neck. The tension in the room was so clear that if Dean had tried he could've probably severed it with the blade as well.

"Dean…" Kevin said softly, "…don't… we can use him… we can use Crowley for the Third Trial."

Dean ignored him as the blade slowly grazed the skin at the back of Crowley's neck. With every small slash and flick of Dean's wrist little bursts of dirty, yellow light emitted from Crowley's skin, sending waves of energy up the blade to Dean's fingers. Crowley was moaning, releasing agonized screaming, muffled by the angel-gag. _Did they really think he was stupid enough to kill the bastard demon? _It made Dean feel satisfied. He finished with what he was doing and stepped away from the demon, careful as to not fuck up all the protection.

He collected all the leftover items from the table, threw it into the huge bag Kevin had used to bring it all here and placed it against the furthest wall. He made no eye contact with anybody. In the corner of his eye he saw Kevin move to have a closer look at what Dean had done to Crowley's neck.

"You marked him with a physical devil's trap?" Kevin asked shocked and amazed.

Dean sighed, "Kev, you got any better ideas? It's the same as the bullet in Abbadon; he just can't take it _out _or_ from _his body. And... I told you to stay away!"

Kevin looked up at Dean again and smiled. Dean hadn't seen the kid smile in weeks, fuck, even months. "Dean, that's genius." Kevin exclaimed.

Dean ignored the praise and turned towards the angels. They were still standing at the other end of the table, observing Dean's every move. Dean could see that even though they were angels, they looked like crap. Castiel's skin was paler than normal. His eyes were bloodshot and he was trembling. The Grace that was flowing from his abdomen was still vanishing into thin air after mixing with his blood as it trickled down his clothes. Dean felt a pang of urgency and concern flood his emotions.

"You!" he pointed at the stranger and asked, "Who are you?"

"I am Ion, a brother to Castiel and an angel of the Lord. I am pleased to meet you, Dean Winchester." the angel, called Ion, said, reaching an open hand towards Dean.

Dean disregarded the gesture and shifted his gaze to Castiel, "I don't know if should even trust _you_, but I'm going to be the better man here and give you the benefit," he said purposefully with a hurtful tone, "Can we trust _him_?"

"Dean, your actions are…"

"_I asked you a question; yes or no?!"_ Dean cut him off.

"Yes." Castiel answered, his eyes falling to the floor. Dean could see the pain in those airy blue orbs.

"Then Ion, you keep your eyes on Crowley. If he escapes, I swear I'll rip out your wings myself and feed them to you. Comprende? Good." Dean ordered.

Dean turned back and pointed to Kevin, "Your room! Now!" and then he set off past the boy towards the infirmary. "_Castiel!" _he shouted.

"Yes, Dean." the angel obliged instantly and followed the older Winchester out of the main hall.

* * *

Inside the medical ward of the Bunker, Dean stood deep into the room with his hands clenched tightly on the edge of one of the medical tables, his back to the door as he heard Castiel enter and close the door behind him. His mind was spinning and it made him unsteady on his feet and it caused a pull of anxiety mixed with nausea behind his belly-button.

Dean breathed deeply, trying to find his calm and collected self with not much success. He closed his eyes and exhaled as he felt the angel's solemn stare from behind him.

"Spill it!" Dean finally demanded.

"Dean, you seem irritable and disappointed. What is…"

Dean slammed his fists, for the hundredth time that day, down onto the table in front of him causing the containers with medical apparatus and supplies to rattle. The shattering noise echoed through the room like rain smashing down on a corrugated iron roof.

"_Castiel_," he forced the words threateningly through his teeth, "I am only going to ask you this once," his voice on the edge of breaking due to anger, "_Explain yourself!_"

Dean thought he heard a gulp from the angel's throat as if Cas was nervous and frightened. The angel clearly understood the menacing tone of Dean's demand and took a step forward.

"After we parted, that night in the crypt…"

"Cut the crap, Cas. I _don't fucking care_ why you left or where you were," Dean interjected again, his emphasized words causing Castiel to flinch, "But I guess you would have known I didn't give a shit if you had actually listened to me, answered my calls."

Confessing that he had resorted to calling the angel when he needed him, praying, made Dean feel dirty and embarrassed. Yes, Cas had saved him so many times bfore, God, he pulled him from the Pit, but he still felt like he didn't need to be rescued. Dean praying to the blue-eyed creature was out of desperation to not resign from his duties, what was by now _expected _of him, his job. He had been so lost that it had seemed the only option.

Castiel didn't make a sound. It was as if Dean had been barking at nobody. He hesitated but turned around, seeing Castiel standing where he had been. It appeared as if Castiel was summoning everything in his might to not look at Dean. It frustrated Dean that the angel did not even have the decency to look him in the eye. Dean put his hands up to his head, rubbed hard at his eyes and slid his fingers down his face; asphyxiating in his own loss for words.

"I… I am… sorry, Dean."

Dean disbelievingly shook his head as he grimaced at Castiel.

"No, Cas! No! You don't get to walk in here and say you're sorry. You don't get to play the victim here. You left us. You left _me_." Dean struggled to reply as his throat constricted. He could feel his body vibrate; the anger, frustration and his own hurt boiling from his skin.

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, his gaze still fixed on his open hands in front of him. He failed to even make a sound, sighing as he felt Dean's tension pulsating towards him.

"Why did you come back? Why did you bring Crowley?"

Dean waited a second and was ready to ask the questions for the goddamn last time when Castiel started speaking in his normal, raspy voice, his eyes never moving from his hands.

Castiel started off by telling Dean that Naomi and her followers caught up with him, still adamant on taking the angel Tablet. Crowley had interrupted the scene and the angels fled after Crowley brandished his gun with the angel bullets. Crowley had taken Castiel and retrieved the Angel Tablet from _inside_ the angel. After that, Castiel escaped. He had to flee; he had to keep out of sight. Naomi was still after him. Crowley was going to kill him. After a week or two, Castiel and Ion were discovered by Crowley. Crowley was in the crappy state that he now was. Abbadon had been let loose, now Castiel knew she had escaped the Winchesters, and had rained down on Crowley like infernos from the sky in revenge. She overthrew Crowley from his thrown and took her newly acquired place as the Queen of Hell. So the angels decided that the best thing to do was seek out Dean and Sam and bring Crowley to them, for interrogation.

Dean took in every word, forming new questions as he listened, not asking them immediately. When Castiel finished his play-by-play of events, Dean shifted in his boots and felt the full weight of what happened settle in his brain.

"So, you're bleeding because Crowley yanked the Tablet from your gut?" Dean asked.

"Yes."

"Why aren't you healing?"

"The turn of events complicated our situation to an even more detrimental state." Cas answered.

"English, Cas." Dean shot at the angel.

"I am unsure about what precisely is causing this, but Ion and I both," Castiel swallowed hard, "Our Grace is gradually being drained from our vessels."

Dean's mouth fell dumbfounded to the floor, "You… you mean to say that… that..."

"Yes, we assume that Naomi might be the culprit. She craves revenge on the angels she thinks has betrayed her. The enigma, Dean, is that this has never been heard of; an angel draining the Grace from their brothers or sisters without physical contact."

Dean froze for what seemed like hours, before his mind snapped back. He turned around and cleared the medical table where he had stood earlier. Over the cold, metal surface he positioned a clean, sheet he had found in a box under the table. It fit perfectly and shielded anyone who sat there from the hard and icy area. He sighed as he already regretted what he was going to say next.

With his back to Castiel, he tapped the surface of the table twice with his fingers, "Let me look at you."

"Dean, I do not understand?" Castiel said tilting his head.

"Jesus, Cas, if you're not healing, I should probably check your wound and stop the bleeding."

Without any response Castiel moved towards where Dean was standing, like he was ordered. Dean couldn't manage to look at the angel in such close proximity. He was giving off waves of displeasure and cloudiness. It not only possibly made the angel uncomfortable and scared, it was frightening himself too. His internal struggle had become more and more external by the second; and as he saw it, it could either end real bad or with him forgiving the angel. But Dean knew he wasn't ready yet. Time would only tell.

He waited as Castiel climbed onto the surgical table in front of him and sat down facing Dean, with his legs hanging from the bend, not touching the floor. The angel placed his hands in his lap as he breathed a heavy sigh, his eyes closed after squinting because of the heavy, old-school infirmary lights. It made Dean want to burst out in laughter as Castiel struck that face that resembled a little boy under the lights of a dentist – somewhere between sleepily aware and annoyingly cute . But his anger got the better of him, striking hard at the positive emotions to keep them under submission. Dean admitted the lights and equipment looked more like stuff out of a Frankenstein-movie. Maybe it wasn't a medical ward after all; could have been a room for _dissecting _and _torturing_ – you never know.

Dean's eyes shifted from the equipment back to Castiel, just as the angel slowly and carefully opened his eyes. The sight had blown a hole straight through Dean's chest as those gloomy and yet blizzard blue eyes stared into Dean's.

Dean was engulfed by the realization that he hadn't seen those sapphires for weeks and that with one stare Castiel could make him feel weak and lost; like the _human_ he was. That was what made him feel and care so much for Castiel, because _Cas_ was the only one who could make him feel like a man, not a savior or a hunter, just a normal man. His mind was blank, and all he could think was that he had missed the watchful eyes of the angel… of his friend.

Dean licked his now sandy dry lips, shifted in his shoes and looked down.

"Castiel," he said, clearing his throat, "Take off your coat… uhm… and your suit jacket… your, uhm shirt too…"

Another magnificent yet delicate blow to Dean's metaphorical gut as the angel, as if it had been customary, canted his head questioningly to his right shoulder. "Is it appropriate for me… I mean, you will not mind me exposing myself before you?"

Dean choked at Castiel's words. He quickly played it off as an awkward sneeze and replied,"Well, it's either that or you bleed to death."

* * *

**_Another A/N: Please keep the PM's and reviews rollin' in. Would love to hear more from you! :D Maybe I'll add some sexy stuff in the next chapter! Let me know if you trust Ion or not? _**


	4. Headlights on the Highway

_**Title:**__ The Downpour at the End_

**_Chapter 4: _**_Headlights on the Highway_

_**A/N: **__This chapter was inspired by __Headlights on the Highway- Ron Pope__. I think it describes, perfectly, what's going on in Dean's head even though he does not realize or accept it yet. Hope you close your eyes while you listen and (hopefully) like it! Oh, and just keep in mind that some things that happened in episode 21, 22 and most of the finale, did NOT happen in my fic - refer to the A/N in the 'Prologue'. I don't want you confused, yo!_

* * *

**-Chapter 4: Headlights on the Highway-**

Dean could feel his pulse ascend and like the heat in the room had been turned up by 30 degrees; pearls of glistening sweat started developing on his brow. He tried to stare anywhere but at the scene that was now unraveling right in front of him; his eyes darting from medical objects to the lights, to the floor and back. His mouth had lost all of its moisture and he found it impossible to keep his tongue from sticking to the back of his throat. Dean, in his mind, was frantically trying to figure out why he had been so out of it these last couple of hours, or even days.

The normal composed and in control Dean had been nowhere to be found and instead the crazy, alienated Dean had been roaming around his brain seeking attention from all the memories, discomfort, rage and irritation; vibrating and inflaming every nerve. It made Dean feel uncomfortable that for once in his life he was not being himself. He was being controlled completely by his emotions and with the little experience he had in that department of life, he knew it was not good. Not for him, not for _anybody_. He had no idea why seeing Castiel like this made him react this way.

Dean's eyes swiveled back to their initial point of departure. The sight he witnessed stirred up a feeling that he had never felt in his life. In front of him, pale skin had been revealed, a torso with sharp lines and soft edges. It was as if Castiel's complexion was murmuring softly at Dean to edge closer. The skin was clammy and a light pink, innocent, but something drew Dean's attention and when the sight finally made him realize what he was seeing, Dean felt a hammer pounding into his gut, knocking most of the awe and confusion from his system.

On the soft plains of Castiel's chest the remnants of the angel-banishing sigil was rising and falling with each of the angel's steady breaths. The rough, scarlet circle with smaller markings inside and around it was almost glowing, as if the power it possessed was still flowing through the seams of the scar. If Dean did not know how old the mark was, he would have guessed that it had only just started healing a week or two before. He did not dwell on the fact that the scar had not yet completely vanished, with all the things Castiel had made through. His eyes were fixed on it, his mind recalling the memory of the angel helping them gain access to the warehouse where Zachariah was keeping Adam, banishing half a dozen angels, including Castiel himself.

_More sacrifice. More discomfort for the people Dean held close to home. _

As if a light had been switched on, Dean found himself staring into his own soul, reflecting on his behavior from the days past. He could see the disappointment of his actions in himself, feel the confusion as it started to fade just barely noticeable and hear his soul scream from afar to come back – to regain control.

Dean did not realize his hand reaching out. He was regarding the mutilated torso of the angel, tracing each line with his gaze repeatedly. It was oddly, a beautiful picture, the contrast of the soft skin fighting to be noticed against the hard, ugly yet mesmerizing scarring. Dean noticed Castiel's breathing growing deeper and deeper as he kept on staring at the angel. He was captivated at what his eyes were revealing and he wanted to touch. He wanted to feel. He wanted to hold it in his solid hands.

"…Dean?" Castiel enquired.

Dean snapped out of his trance and looked into the angel's azure eyes, retracted his hand and cleared his throat, "Uh… Yeah, let me check out your cut." He could not help but feel a stream of disappointment flood his emotions. In the same breath, his moment of clarity was washed away by the overwhelming bewilderment of his situation.

Castiel leaned back a little and revealed a nasty, deep gash in his abdomen. Blood had started clotting around the ragged opening, but some of the red fluid was still leaking, flowing from the wound, the magical essence intertwining with it and dispersing seconds after making contact with the elements outside of the angel's body. Dean cleared his mind and tried to focus on the task at hand; to help Castiel. There was no more time for yelling, freaking out or losing it. He just had to help.

Dean started working. He retrieved some gauze from a nearby container and applied pressure to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. The palm of his hand was pressing hard against Castiel. His fingers trembling as he tried to remember his first-aid skills, his brain completely empty. The tips of his fingers slightly grazed the skin over Castiel's hipbones. Electricity shot through his digits emblazoning every molecule in his body. Dean could feel his eyes roll over in his head due to the sheer pleasure mixed with disturbance he was experiencing; all that from just touching the angel's skin. It made Dean's insides turn in a weird way he could not explain. It reminded him of the sensation he got when he tickled the roof of his mouth with his tongue too much, a feeling between disgust and pure orgasmic delight.

The angel must have felt it too because the skin under Dean's fingers had reacted to the touch guilelessly and immediately a slow wave of chills were now blowing from his hipbones all the way up is side. I silent tremor shot through the holy being's body. Dean could see Cas' eyes were closed now, biting his thin and chapped lips. It made Dean feel uneasy. And before Dean had any time to analyze the situation, his mind pulled him back to reality and urged him to continue with tending to the wounded.

"Take this," he told the angel before he walked over to another table close by, leaving Castiel to put pressure on his injury, "We gotta clean this first before we sew you up again. Now, I'm no doctor, but I guess I can make you look better than that sorry Scarecrow from _The Wizard of Oz_."

Castiel remained quiet where he was sitting, but Dean could feel the angel's unenlightened frown and inquisitive tilt of his neck.

Dean shook his head and smirked as he was preparing the suture-kit, "I'll probably have to find you a brain _too_ then."

"Dean, I am not sure if I know what you are speaking of. My vessel contains a brain within its skull?"

"Forget it, Cas. Just… Forget it!" Dean said, finishing up, and returning back to Castiel with the suture-kit and disinfectant, looking displeased at the angel for once again not getting his references. At least Dean was being more accommodating than before. Jesus, more than the last few days.

Dean placed the medical equipment he was carrying on the operating table next to Castiel, the angel eyeing his every move with curious intent. He stepped in between Castiel's parted legs and blew out a long, shallow breath as he regarded the wound. It looked horrible and if Castiel hadn't been an angel it would surely have been septic by now.

Hesitantly, Dean continued, dipping a large fold of cotton wool in lukewarm water that was mixed with some heavy duty, in-the-field-war-disinfectant; not the usual stuff they bought at the drug store. He beckoned for Castiel to remove the gauze the angel was using to stop the last of the bleeding. Castiel obliged and Dean quickly covered the wound with the soaked cotton.

A trembling gasp of pain slipped from Castiel's lips as the disinfectant seeped into the gash, burning and eating away at the bacteria. Dean flinched and looked up in shock to see the angel clenching his eyes like he wasn't letting those holy aquamarines from ever seeing the light of day again.

"Dude, you're an angel… What the hell?"

Through gritted teeth, Castiel, trying to calm himself, snarled, "We have been through this, Dean. Naomi is draining my Grace. I cannot use the amount of Grace I have left to numb the pain that is being experienced by my vessel, just to make my life easier, when I can use it for so much more. "

Dean's expression mimicked that of someone who had just been slapped through the face as he realized the repercussions of what Naomi was doing to Castiel and Ion.

"Cas-"

"Yes, Dean, in due time all of my Grace will be drained and I will be human. I will have nothing to protect _you_ or anybody else for that matter."

The emphasis in Castiel's words made Dean snap out of his shock and his defenses to spurt around him like wildfire. "There isn't a lot of demon or angel activity to protect us from, Cas. So suck it up, big guy. I got to get these stitches in."

He jumped back to work and cleaned Castiel's wound, ignoring the flinching and the sounds coming from the angel. Every touch, every graze of fingers against angelic skin sent that now familiar bolt of energy through Dean's body. Dean struggled to ignore it, clearing his mind from it all and meticulously sewing shut the cut in Castiel stomach.

Time stood still as Dean worked, but the fatigue he had been experiencing recently and the stress and emotional output of securing Crowley and dealing with his current situation, between feeling as if he wanted to beat Castiel for being so irresponsible to leave with the Tablet, and forgiving the angel for his actions, caught up with him. His hands were going numb and his vision was becoming more blurry with each lingering second.

He shook his head to focus and think about something else, something to keep his mind from wandering into the territories of his brain that did not need any visits. Dean's mind finally focused on a cloudy question.

"So I guess Jake Gyllenhaal couldn't heal you either?" Dean asked, realizing too late that his words would make no sense to Castiel, "I mean, that Ion-dude, if Naomi is draining his mojo too?"

Castiel shifted uncomfortably where he was seated, his face turning away from Dean. His hands were squirming slowly on the edges of the operating table, like a little boy's hands that was on the brink of being discovered of doing something bad.

Dean noticed the shift in the air immediately and squinted up to see a nervous and troubled Castiel staring into the lights. "Cas, it's a few stitches. Come on! It's not that bad."

"No, Dean. It is not that," Castiel said without looking back at the Winchester, "I need to tell you something. I feel the need to be honest with you."

"It's about goddamn time." Dean replied, rolling his eyes and resuming his handiwork by tightening the last suture, and cleaning the newly, held-together skin with a few soft swipes of the disinfectant. "There. That should hold up till the skin starts reattaching again."

Castiel's whole body shuddered in relief. He heaved a sigh and cleared his throat as he looked down, "Thank you…"

Dean could not be sure if Castiel was looking at his stomach or at his knees, as he waited for the angel to say what he was holding in.

"You're stalling 'cause I'm not gonna like what you have to share, right?"

"Dean, you must understand…"

"Get on with it, Cas." Dean interjected, gathering most of the medical supplies and discarding the used ones.

"Ion's Grace, like mine, is being drained by Naomi and the Host-" Castiel started.

Dean nodded as he returned to the angel, holding a large covering for Castiel's wound. He pasted it carefully to the angel's, now dry, skin and with a soft but firm swipe of his hand he made sure that the covering was clinging to skin and would not fall off, keeping the wound safe from unwanted bacteria hanging around in the air and to keep the wound dry.

"-but Ion would have used his Grace to heal me. He is one of the most loyal angels I have had the honor of working with. He was in my Garrison, one of my subordinates. He would shift mountains for me and more, like I would to my superiors at the time, even though his use of Grace is also being limited."

Dean frowned at Castiel, "And you were too _proud_ to let him do his duties and heal you?"

Castiel ignored Dean's snide remark and continued, "It is not just that, Dean. Ion… His Grace is dirty. It has been _compromised_."

At Castiel's last word, Dean's worry and anger started whispering at him from the pit of his stomach. He knew something was off. He knew everything had been running, despite some bumps and potholes along the way, too smoothly. He knew there was more to the angel's attempts at telling Dean about what had been going on in Castiel's life these past couple of days, weeks.

Dean lifted his hands to his temples and rubbed at the stab of pain emanating from inside, "Compromised how?"

Castiel straightened in his sitting position, wincing at the uncomfortable pull and aches in his abdomen. He seemed to have shaken his guilty-looking demeanor and hesitancy to talk openly to Dean; or that is what Dean thought.

"Ion, being one of the angel's closest to me, has also been one of Naomi's victims." Castiel said.

Dean bit back a scream of frustration and slowly grounded out, "Stalling again, Cas. I know that bitch is draining his…"

"No, Dean, listen!" Castiel snapped, "Ion has been through the same torment as I have been. Naomi has been sauntering around in his mind, drilling for information for months. After finally giving up and not extracting any worthy piece of information from his mind, Naomi altered his mind and sent him after me, to retrieve the Angel Tablet."

"So, he is one of Naomi's slaves and you brought him here?" Dean exclaimed.

"He used to be, Dean. I broke through to him in Crowley's office when Ion was keeping watch over me. I made him realize what had been done to him and we escaped together."

"Wait! Hold up, Cas! What was Ion doing in Crowley's dump?" Dean asked closing his eyes, afraid of hearing the answer.

"Dean, please listen to me before you react. And try not to be irrational?" the angel pleaded.

The Winchester gave a disbelieving smile, not really sure he was ready for the next words out of Castiel's mouth, bit his bottom lip while closing his eyes tightly and nodding his head.

"Ion, feeling betrayed by Naomi and her less than Holy ways, realized that Heaven and the Host were becoming all the more corrupt-" Castiel's dusty, low voice broke a little as he tried to continue, "-and he entered into a contract with Crowley."

Dean felt every ounce of control inside of his being, latch onto the tendons, muscles, hinges of his physical body, like vines in an enchanted forest, restraining and imprisoning its victim. Dean's disgust and shock slashed at these vines like a sword enveloped in fire, as Dean struggled internally. He wanted to listen and hear Castiel's explanations, his irresponsible and stupid reason, and on the other hand he wanted to scream and lash out at the angel. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to break something and get rid of his sudden rage.

Dean started inhaling and exhaling deeply, centering himself until the majority of his fury subsided into some small fiery coals burning in the back of his mind.

"You brought a corrupt angel here? You dragged a demon's slave-angel right into our laps? And you trusted him with where we are, while you knew he was being controlled by Crowley? And you trusted an angel, who has been mind-fucked by Naomi, with the exact location of the Angel Tablet?"

"Dean, I trust Ion. He is one of the closest brothers I have. I would sacrifice my own life for him." Castiel said, determined to make Dean understand.

Dean could feel the arrow of ice and dirt and rusted steel splinter through his heart, as a second one hit him, a third, another, as Castiel's sharp tongue shot the words at him. _Castiel trusted the bad angel more than Dean himself. Castiel had said it. Castiel had meant it. _It was a soul-deafening blow and Dean gave in.

He could feel the fiery sword inside of him finally breaking through the restraints that were keeping him from losing his mind, losing command over his body and losing his resoluteness of forgiving his best friend.

"Where is the Angel Tablet?" Dean bit through clenched teeth.

"It is safely hidden…"

"_Where is_ the Angel Tablet?"

"Ion and I have stored it in a setting where no one would find it, but us." Castiel responded innocently, but also realizing that Dean's attitude had once again resumed that of a raging bull in a Matador's Arena.

"Us? _Us?!_ You mean you and Ion. There is no 'us' anymore. There is no more 'Team Free Will'. There is no more 'family'. Sam is dying; I am at the end of my rope here. There is no more 'you and me', Castiel! You come in here and you spout the same shit over again about not trusting me, not trusting anybody and you turn up and tell me you put the trust _I deserved_ into a goddamn, _dirty angel?_ But you know what; I don't need your trust. I don't need your apologies. I need nothing from a failing, self-engrossed angel with severe Daddy-issues…"

"Stop!" Castiel loudly interjected.

"Angels are limited. You can't function without following orders or rules. You can't do anything _but follow and listen_. Now I know why God _left_ all you winged angel-bastards stranded in that shit-hole. I would have done the same. I would have been _ashamed_ and-"

Without warning or a second to react Dean felt his feet forcefully lift off of the ground beneath him. He felt a god-like grip on his face as a palm drove upwards into his chin, the fingers accompanying it with unimaginable force, digging into his cheeks. The blow made Dean's head crash into the wall behind him, sending blinding pain through his brain. It happened in a fraction of a second, and took Dean what seemed like a lifetime to grasp.

A fierce thrust from Castiel's knee made contact with the human's solar plexus, compelling an ugly sound from Dean's throat as the wind from his lungs blasted out, mixing with spit and blood. Dean's eyes were tearing up as he tried to take a gulp of the suddenly unavailable supply of air. He could feel Castiel press violently into his body, both of them floating mere inches from the ground, Dean's back smashing into the wall.

"Will you desist_?!" _Castiel said threateningly, every word emphasized with a sharp cut of air.

Dean could not reply. He had no air in his lungs to even breathe; talking was out of the question. He tried to open his eyes and focus on the angel, but his fear was keeping him back; keeping him from facing what he started, from looking the beast he had poked, in the eye.

"You forget sometimes, Dean Winchester, that I am still an Angel of the Lord. I am a celestial being far greater than the creation you are. Angels were created from the _Fires of the First Sun_ and we have been around for millennia, worshipping and training, studying and obeying. Our powers are unimaginable to you, incomparable to the arts you have seen me perform. I am stronger and faster than your petty little thoughts can comprehend. I am more intelligent. And my obedience to my Father has been the core of my development and growth as an Angel - obedience you and your kind never quite got the handle of. And _that, _Dean, is going to be your hardest and _last_ downfall; not obeying, not knowing where your place in the Order of Creation is. "

Dean slowly opened his eyes as he felt Castiel's cold breath on his face. The angel was regarding him as a piece of meat, an inanimate object with no worth whatsoever. The normal blue eyes were now alight with a piercing white glow.

"You dare mock me and my Father – my Father's decisions? You dare stand in front of an Angel and speak out with a sullied tongue? You dare blaspheme beyond my tolerance? I will not _allow_ it anymore, Dean Winchester! You will show respect towards me and towards my beliefs. You will listen to reason and believe my every word, like I have done you, many a times over. You will regain control over yourself, over the man I once knew, over the man I _care_ for – the man I… I_-_"

Like a branch of thick, poison ivy had been ripped from Dean's stomach, exiting his throat and mouth, he felt his first breath come back to him. Dean spluttered and roared as he felt the oxygen expand his lungs and burn inside his chest. He could still feel the angel's unmoving grip on him.

"Cas… Cas-ti-el… You… y-you left. You didn't… didn't trust me…" Dean struggled to utter, "How… how can I ever… ever again… trust you?" he pleaded questioningly.

Dean could only make out a small hesitant look on Castiel's face before the angel started speaking again.

"I did not leave you because _I _did not trust you, Dean. I left because I did not trust myself _with you._"

Dean's focus on the angel's face in his personal bubble cleared up by the second and Dean managed to catch Castiel staring intently at Dean's lips. Castiel breathed a low, dusty sigh that sounded to Dean as if the angel was backing down.

"I started to become more human, more emotional as time grew on," the angel admitted, shifting his gaze to the floor as the glow in his eyes started to recede, "I became too close, too attached to the people in my charge, to _you_."

Dean felt Castiel's hold on him soften and both of their bodies slowly descending towards the floor. Dean did not move his eyes from the angel's direction, too afraid of stepping out of line or losing track of what the angel was saying. He might have been snapped out of his recent confusion-orgy but he had a whole new set of questions filling his mind as the angel spoke on. He was not terrified; he was minutely intrigued by the angel's confession.

"While Naomi was in my head, I envisaged some interesting yet impossible thoughts, some of them hidden in my subconscious, others brought on by the intrusion of my privacy, and-"

"Cas…" Dean finally managed to say, trying to sound more sympathetic and sorry than he had been, trying to console the angel from the stuff he had seen in his head, whatever they might have been.

Castiel looked up from his feet, his face closer to Dean's than it had ever been. Dean could feel the sweet, warm scent of magnolias, a mix of lemons and vanilla, as Cas' breath intoxicated him. He could see the rueful look in those angelic eyes, as if Castiel wanted to kill himself for what he had just done, for hurting one of his charges. And Dean couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy…

Dean eyes flicked to Castiel's lips, the usual pink was now engulfed with a deeper, ethereal rose pigment. They were softer and plump.

"Forgive me, Dean-" Castiel whispered, closing his eyes.

Dean felt the atmosphere change before he saw what was happening. Castiel was leaning closer. Castiel was coming right at him, with his fragile lips and his eyes closed and Dean; Dean just froze.

A loud crash came from the main room of the Lair. It snapped both the angel and human from their 'predicament', both fumbling and clearing their throats as they looked opposite ways. Dean's mind was racing and he could feel Castiel killing himself from the inside, cursing himself for treating Dean this way.

In a blink of an eye, Castiel had crossed the room, Dean short on his heels, as Dean grabbed the angel's wrist. Castiel stopped dead in his tracks and carefully turned his head to look at Dean. His face was broken with all kinds of emotions you would never see on any angel. _Except this guy_, Dean thought. _Except, my angel._

Dean cleared his mind and locked his gaze on the angel's, accompanying it with a soft, reassuring squeeze of his hand, "Cas, would you… would you forgive _me_?"

Castiel slipped from Dean's grip on his wrist, turned his back to the Winchester and started buttoning the front of his ripped and soiled shirt. He continued by fixing his tie and Dean could feel Castiel breathing slowly and roughly.

"It is not in my nature to keep a grudge, Dean. You have nothing to ask forgiveness for," And with that the angel opened the door of the infirmary and strolled out, "Let us see what the commotion outside is about."

Dean followed the angel, lost in his own thoughts, "I told Kevin to stay in his room."

* * *

_Abaddon could feel hundreds, no, thousands of eyes following her movements, as she paced patiently in front of her growing crowd. Crowley had finally reached the Winchesters and her plan was running as it was supposed to. The pawns were set, the armies were gathered and the 'allies', the term she used to sway her sisters into joining her campaign, were being briefed on the mission. _

_She stopped mid-pace, turned towards her onlookers, her followers, her children and folded her arms in front of her. A cunning smile spread over her face as she witnessed the scope of her minions, her power, her influence. A quiver of delight spread through her meat-suit as she experienced for the first time in decades the feeling of pure bliss, pure bottled up wrath and oncoming success._

_With the slight lift of her eyebrow the doors of the building they were in, slammed shut and the noise emitting from the demons before her died down. She waited. She wanted full attention. She wanted every eye and every ear to be poised at her. Her Knights were flanking her, staring down every demon who had not heard the Queen of Hell's cue of silence. _

_"My children, the time has come for us to take what is ours. With my permission, you have the right to go forth and kill every human, kill every animal, kill every living organism and destroy Earth."_

_Cheers were flooding from the crowd. Some roars and demonic growls could be heard too._

_"Our goal is to lure out the Winchesters-" she started being cut off by nasty, yet beautiful to her ears, insults, swearing and threats to the boys, "but you have no jurisdiction to kill them. The Winchesters are _mine! _Kill, spoil and pillage… But, bring Dean and Sam directly to me._"

_A rumble of acquiescence droned through the hall they were standing in. _

_"Be aware, that Angels and Creatures will also be spilling onto Earth-" she was cut off again by angry protesting and spitting, "-but don't worry…"_

_Silence fell._

_"Kill them too!" _

* * *

Dean and Castiel entered the main hall of the Lair to witness a sight neither of them expected to see, or neither of them wanted to ever see again. Dean felt the color drain from his face as he stared into almost-black eyes regarding him as he walked into the main hall of the Lair.

"Are you lovers done quarreling?" Crowley's voice spilled gleefully over the glass of whiskey he was holding in front of him, seated at the table in the center of the room, his legs spread out before him on top an ottoman. No. His legs were relaxing on Ion's back, as the angel crouched in embarrassment, tears dripping from his sullen face. Dean's entire body was in shock. All he could sense was that the other angel had never been so humiliated before.

"I hope you don't mind me helping myself to some Scotch? I was quite thirsty. You circled me with so much salt, I became dangerously de-moisturized," Crowley laughed at his own joke.

"Dean, a little help here…" Dean's heart skipped a million beats and he realized from across the room, Kevin and _Sam_ were tied up in Crowley's abandoned chains.

Dean reacted without questions, the angel blade in his back pocket brandished at the ready, almost leaping at Crowley who still had that smirk donned on his mug. Something caught him mid-air and he felt Castiel pull him back, giving his shoulders a dominant, yet reassuring pressure as he did so.

"Dean, wait!" the angel said, "Crowley, even if you don't believe it, is here to aid in our dilemma. I wanted to tell you earlier, but you-"

"Jesus, Cas. I can't believe you. Don't you see? It's a fucking trap." Dean screamed, wrestling against Castiel's grasp.

"No, Dean. It is not. Crowley has not killed anybody." Castiel reassured Dean.

"He hasn't killed anybody _yet_, Cas! What's wrong with you? Let me go or I will hurt you too!" Dean threatened.

Unexpectedly, Dean heard his brother's fragile and broken voice, "Dean, listen to Castiel. Just chill, okay. We're fine. Kevin and I are fine. We're just, ugh, tied up," Sam tried to convince his brother, "Castiel has a point. We're not dead. Besides, you're the one who _invited_ Crowley in. That's why is even able to be in here with all warding and enchantments against demons. So, just… just listen."

Dean felt his brain explode from overheating. He could not believe his ears. Everyone he knew, everyone still alive, was now ready to listen to Crowley – the demon who had been the eternal piece of fucking shit under their shoes. _And he invited the demon to come in? Was this a joke? Was this some sort of sick vampire-parody? No entry without invitation? Jesus…_

"If it makes you feel anymore safe, boy, I may have escaped from your little Houdini-setup right there, but look," Crowley said, turning his head and pulling down his collars, "I haven't touched the nice markings you gave me. I am still bound, no demon tricks up my sleeve."

"Then how did you escape? How did you do all this? How are you controlling Ion?"

The answers came to Dean as the words left his lips. He knew now what had been in store, what he had been afraid of.

Crowley saw the realization in Dean's eyes, "Yes, Dean, you are getting quicker by the second. Ion is still my winged slave-boy. He is still under contract. He does whatever I tell him. Nifty little asset I have here." He finished, kicking at Ion's ribs.

Dean managed to whip at the expanding fury inside of him as he looked back at Castiel with an expression that screamed "_how did you not know this, for God's sake"! _Castiel simply shrugged and stared back at Crowley waiting for the answer.

"Oh, and did I mention that Ion's contract prohibits him from ever speaking of our agreement? Lovely little section I snuck in there." The demon said with excitement on his tongue.

Dean recollected himself. He tried to obey his brother and Castiel's pleadings, obey like what was expected from him, by Castiel, by the Order of Creation. He let out a soft, growl before he spoke, and for the first time that day, Dean gave in.

"Say I give you the benefit of the doubt, Crowley, which is probably the hardest thing I am going to do today; what do you possibly have of interest for _us_? What will you do to help us and how will I know this is not some trap?"

"This is not a trap, even though I would love to pick the bones from Kevin's body. How do you know I won't swing my ass in another direction? I will keep your mark on me. I will stay immobilized until you need me. How can I help? I not only have Ion under contract, but a small army of demons too. And if they do not comply with my wishes, far worse things will happen than Abbadon can ever do them. You remember my poor baby, the cute little pup Moose killed a while back? That was only one of the _puppies _in my kennel. I bred them, I own them. "

Crowley reached for the bottle of whiskey in front of him, filled his glass to the rim and held it aloft as if making a toast to Dean, regarding the ball of the glass as it shimmered in the light and sent beautiful rays of amber in every direction.

_"And what do I have of interest? I know things, Dean. I know a great deal of things. I know for instance, that Abbadon is on the move. She's coming. She's coming for you. "_

* * *

**_Another A/N: As per usual, reviews, comments and PM's are my life. Please drop me some if you feel the need. Next chapter coming soon... Feel free to give requests and share this fic with others. Draw fan art and go absolutely bat shit crazy! I won't mind. Follow me on tumblr too; my URL is_** durzob - Love you***


End file.
